I Would Wait a Lifetime
by ournoisyhearts
Summary: It may be reality, or it may be a dream. Arthur can't really tell the difference anymore. Arthur/Sam.


Set while Sam is at Stanford. (I don't really care how the _Inception_ timeline matches up. Just go with me on this, okay?)

_It may be reality, or it may be a dream. Arthur can't really tell the difference anymore._

The first time Arthur meets Sam Winchester, his red die feels too light in the pocket of his slacks and it seems like everyone he passes on the sidewalk has decided to burn a hole into him with their eyes.

In other words, he's sure he's dreaming.

He keeps his head down and maneuvers his way through the crowds of people, bumping shoulders accidentally every once in awhile as he shoves his hands into his pockets. His fingers brush across his totem, and he rubs his thumb across the surface, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. It's smooth minus the small indentations where the white dots are, and its weight seems normal as he curves his palm around it.

So he's not dreaming, then.

He pulls his hands out of his pockets slowly and raises his head, slowing his pace so that he can take in his surroundings. These days, he doesn't even remember where he is half the time- he just goes, and when he stops, he stops. Cities and countries blur together into a single shape, a never ending sphere of people, sights, and sounds. His gaze passes over dozens of tall, cracked buildings, and he can see the peaks of two red towers off in the distance. He's in San Francisco, if the Golden Gate Bridge is anything to show for it.

Sighing, he shoves his hands back into his pockets and quickens his pace once again. A cool breeze blows in off the bay, barely strong enough to corrupt his slicked back hair, but chilly enough to make him shiver. Of all the places Arthur's been since he lost Dom, the one similarity seems to be the cool weather, which he is thankful for. The sun is always too bright, and it hurts his eyes. The light only makes him question his reality ten times more.

He passes a busy sports grill on the street corner. Through the window, he can see a group of college aged kids crowded around one of the taller tables, all of them grinning and pouring themselves drinks from a pitcher of beer in the middle of the table. They all seem to be crowded around one of their friends in particular- a tall, lanky man with floppy brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. The guy laughs when one of his friends says something to him, throwing his head back as two deep dimples appear in his cheeks. His face is flushed as he straightens up again, taking a drink out of his glass and gazing over towards the window. He catches Arthur's gaze, who finally realizes he's stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and is staring at the students inside the restaurant. The man offers Arthur a small smile, his lips quirking up at the corners before he turns back to his friends.

The smile makes something in Arthur's chest jump, and he resumes his walking before he thinks anything more of it.

It's sunny. Arthur immediately recognizes that he's dreaming.

He's sitting on a stone bench, across from an elegant fountain in the middle of what appears to be some sort of courtyard. His eyes pass over a few large, stucco-walled buildings, and the projections that wander past him are all rather young looking, probably no older than twenty or twenty one. All of these factors point to a college, and this must be a private one, at that. The landscaping is too well handled and beautiful to be anything less. The lawns are perfectly groomed, the bushes trimmed to perfection and the trees blossoming in the sunlight. He continues to scan the area, searching for any sign pointing as to where _exactly_ he is, but nothing jumps out at him.

He stands up slowly and stretches, his hands locked above his head as the muscles in his back loosen. After a moment he lowers his arms and moves forward, falling into step with a group of students as they pass him.

Most of them are laughing and smiling, backpacks strung over their shoulders as they socialize with their friends. Arthur's gaze locks on one of them, though, who stands with his back to Arthur as his friends move on past him. His halt in motion causes Arthur to freeze as well, a few feet behind him, as the man slowly turns around, gaze zeroing in on the older man. At first, Arthur assumes the projection is going to attack so he braces himself, locking his body to prepare himself for the assault.

Instead, the projection takes a step forward, tilting his head to the side. "Do I know you?"

Arthur blinks out of his protective stance, startled, and stares up into warm hazel eyes. He takes in the towering figure and its floppy hair, and instantly remembers the man from the sports bar.

"N-no," Arthur stutters, nearly tripping over himself as he moves backwards. The man's eyes widen as he moves towards Arthur, reaching out as if to steady the other man.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The man's hands grip Arthur's shoulders tightly as he stares down at him, concern washing over his features. His fingers burn through Arthur's shirt as Arthur rips himself out of the man's grasp, struggling to maintain a neutral expression.

"Who are you?" Arthur demands. The man seems taken aback as Arthur moves away from him, so he drops his hands, shoving them into the pockets of his jeans.

"I'm-" he closes his mouth before he can say his name, and instead looks at Arthur quizzically. "I swear I recognize you from somewhere. Are you sure I don't…"

"Look, man, I don't know you," Arthur says firmly, sucking in a sharp breath as his hand closes around the die in the pocket of his jacket. The indentations are still there, and the die is the right weight, but it feels…_wrong _somehow.

He needs to get out of here. He can't determine if any of this is real, and that is _not _a good sign.

"I need to go. Sorry about the misunderstanding," Arthur mumbles, making his way forward to shove past the man.

"Wait! I _do _know you. I saw you earlier, when I was at Joe's. You were that guy on the sidewalk."

Dream? Reality? This man's knowledge is really beginning to make Arthur question what exactly is happening right now.

"I think you're mistaking me for someone else," Arthur says slowly, freezing in his tracks and turning around to face the man, whose eyes are narrowed as he glares sternly at Arthur.

"Christo?" The man says weakly.

"Dude, I'm not _possessed," _Arthur snaps. It's meant to be a joke, but the man looks completely shocked.

"You- I mean- um, I'm Sam. My name. It's Sam," the other man- _Sam-_ blurts out, taking a step forward.

"Arthur," Arthur replies before he can stop himself. He _seriously _needs to get out of here. He doesn't know what _Sam's_ intentions are, but if the feeling of his die is anything to go by, it's obviously nothing good.

"Okay, Arthur," Sam answers, his voice suddenly gone soft as he takes another step forward, Arthur's name rolling off his tongue, "I don't know what's wrong with you, or what's even going on, but…I think you should come with me."

Arthur laughs bitterly, pushing at Sam's chest as the man moves into his personal space. "I don't think-"

Then, he wakes up.

"You again."

Arthur's hand snaps into his pocket as he clutches his die in a vice-like grip, not turning around. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sam's hand drops onto his shoulder and he turns around slowly, keeping his eyes cast to the hardwood floor at his feet. "Look, Arthur," Arthur can't help the roll of his stomach that happens as Sam says his name, his voice honey sweet and welcoming, "I don't know what's going on- these dreams are really starting to freak me out- but whatever it is, you obviously know something about it, and I'd appreciate it if you would share with me what exactly that is."

Arthur breathes in deeply, pulling his hand out of his pocket, his totem wrapped in his fist. He slowly uncurls his fingers and opens his hand so that the die is laying flat on his palm, the light red glowing under the dim light of the kitchen lamp.

"This is a totem," he says carefully, lifting his eyes to watch Sam's reaction. The only person he's had to explain this to is Ariadne, and normally he wouldn't even bother, but something about Sam draws him in, makes him want to share everything he knows about extraction. "It's a way for me to keep track of what's a dream- and what's reality." He scans Sam's face for any change in expression, but his eyes remain wide and alert, waiting for more. "I- well, my partner, mostly- we used to specialize in something known as extraction. We would break into someone's subconscious and steal information."

Sam's mouth twists up as the information sinks in. "What does this have to do with us?"

Arthur frowns at the use of the word _us_ and closes his hand around his totem, rubbing his thumb across one of the faces of the die. "Truthfully, I don't know. I've only seen you once- that one day, at the sports bar- and as far as I know, it's impossible to share dreams without some sort of chord or device manually connecting the people sharing it." He brushes his fingers slowly over the dots on the die and frowns, rubbing his chin with his empty hand. "Ever since that first day, and then the dream after that, I've been questioning my reality. When I'm around you, Sam, I can't- I can't tell the difference. And I…I don't even know you. Not really. It just- it doesn't make any sense," he finishes pathetically, moving to put his totem back into his pocket.

Sam stops him, gripping his wrist firmly and tugging Arthur's body forward. He pries Arthur's fingers open, exposing the red die and he looks down at it intently, studying the object. The two men are practically standing chest to chest, and Arthur exhales sharply and Sam's thumb ghosts across the die.

"Oh shit, am I not supposed to touch it? I didn't mean-" he babbles, but his mouth snaps shut as he notices the heat in Arthur's darkened eyes. They just stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, Sam's left hand still enclosed around Arthur's wrist and the fingers of his right hand barely resting atop the totem. Finally, Arthur raises his free hand to grip Sam's hand that is hovering over the die and uses his own fingers to close Sam's around it, covering the now closed fist with his palm.

"Feel how it has a designated weight? And the indentations where the dots are. In a dream, the die should feel weightless. Smooth," Arthur whispers, rubbing his thumb across Sam's knuckles. "If we're dreaming right now, then why…does it feel…so real?"

Sam's eyes meet his, and electricity crackles between them as Arthur takes a small step forward to close the little remaining distance between them.

"What does it mean?" Sam asks quietly, his breath warm against Arthur's face, their locked hands pressed between their bodies. Arthur shrugs, his eyelids fluttering as he gazes up at the other man.

"I don't know, Sam. I can't tell the difference anymore."

Then, he kisses him.


End file.
